I Feel Too Much. It's Like Being

She Knows That Whispers Can Be Useful. Sometimes They Contain Real Information. But Usually They're Fairy Tales And Lies. This Is The Worst Kind Of Whisper, The Kind That Draws You In, Gives You Hope.

First, You Hand Over Some Basics-overwhelming Joy, Existential Angst, A Giving-in To Desire, Etc. And Then You Promise To Withstand Talking Idly About The Weather, To Encourage Cliché, To Uphold The Virtues Of Average. You Hand Over The Need To Be Understood And, In Return, You Get A Bar Of Normal Soap. And You Can Wash In It And Be Daily Reborn To A Safe World Of Modest, Enduring Love Or, At Least, Mild, Well-mannered Bonding.

She Let Him Go Once. Every Day Demands That She Release Him Over And Over Again.

I Feel Too Much. It's Like Being Drummed To Death From Within. You Know?

But There It Is: Everyone Is Alone, For Life, And Maybe That's Not Such A Bad Thing.